Comical
reactions to simple questions:
"Huh? Wuzzat? Who in the what now?"

More
perceived slow motion than in a John Woo movie

All
food, regardless of nutritional value, tastes the same

Outpouring
of sympathy for narcoleptics

Concerts

I'm
venturing dangerously close to Allison
territory here, because she's a huge fan, but I have to tell you about
Lucinda.

Monday
night I went to Antone's, a very famous Austin live music venue that's
basically just a big rectangular room with a bar that runs the length
of the place. At this club I'd seen Maceo Parker perform once, and watched
David Gray do a showcase for South by Southwest there before I even
knew who he was.

It's
one of those great small venues that big-name artists don't mind playing
because it has such a storied history. And then you have guys like Dennis
Quaid, who played there with his band a few weeks ago. I didn't say
all the acts that play Antone's are stellar. But it is a great place
to check some music out.

I
managed to get Lucinda Williams
tickets for a small show she was doing there from some co-workers who
had a few extras to sell after the show was sold out. That night, at
about 10 p.m., the opening band (they were good, but I didn't catch
the name) was finishing up. We waited for Lucinda to come on.

An
endless string of bluesy female vocalists played over the sound system.
The lights adjusted. Stagehands tuned guitars, tested microphones and
at one point turned on a small book light on a stand with sheet music
for Lucinda.

An
hour later, and still nothing. Every time a song would end on the sound
system, people would start to cheer because surely this was when she
was going to start. But then another song would start, and the cheering
would turn to a collective moan. By 11:20, people were getting angry,
yelling for her to come out. It was a lot of standing and a lot of waiting.

But
when she did come out, wearing an improbably bent up cowboy hat over
stringy dirty blonde hair, a black top and dark eye makeup, the audience
went completely buck wild. Their frustration turned instantly to adulation.
And it was deserved.

Lucinda
is someone I started listening to about a year or two ago when her album
"Car
Wheels on a Gravel Road," was starting to top all the critics
"Best of 1998 and 1999" lists. I bought the album and was
completely sold. The songs were folksy but not too country (I'm not
good with country music). The lyrics were personal, but totally accessible.
Her voice was piercing, the music was perfect to the last note and the
mood of the album would go from jubilant to beaten down to pissed off
and back to swoonily in love.

At
the concert, Lucinda started right in with "Metal Firecracker,"
one of my favorite songs, and chugged right through about four songs
from that album. Then she shifted gears and did several songs from her
upcoming "Essence"
album.

So cool. So ratty. So talented.

Let
me say this right away: I've heard the first single, the title track,
from that album played on the radio locally on KGSR. And that song is
incredible. Sexy and dark and swoony. She did what she called "the
unedited version" which didn't sound all that different from the
radio version except it had the phrase "fucked up" at the
end. But man, what an amazing song. It sounded perfect live, as did
all the songs. Go up to that link and listen to the audio clip. Fantastic.

The
audience was with her at every moment, from her old favorites to new
songs nobody had heard like the evocative "Bus to Baton Rouge."
The song is about her grandma, and I dare you to listen to it and not
remember your own grand-mama.

Her
new songs are generally slower, moodier and not always as catchy as
the ones on "Car Wheels." But Lucinda's voice is still fractured
and gorgeous. The arrangements run from delicate to harsh.

Through
several incidents that seem to happen at every concert I go to (The
Tallest Man In The World ended up in front of us, swaying to the first
few songs; one lady pushed her way just to stand right in front of us.
Then her drunk husband joined her.), I wondered what Lucinda's appeal
is (besides sheer talent, which as nice it is to have, is never a guarantee
for success). I don't know a single person who dislikes her music: At
least people who've given "Car Wheels" a chance. It seems
to transcend music lines. It's folksy, but it isn't folk music. It rocks,
but it's not a rock album. It sounds like it could come from the planet
country, but it doesn't sound like any country album I've ever been
exposed to.

We
were about 15 to 20 feet from the stage. Antone's is intimate like that.
At one point, Lucinda, who mostly stared at the back wall or closed
her eyes while singing, looked toward the center, right near me. Her
heavily made-up raccoon eyes were sad and wise, pained and filled with
ecstasy at the same time. The crowd sang along to "2 Cool 2 Be
4-Gotten." They danced to "Joy." They bobbed heads to
"Out of Touch" and got misty in their beers over "Reason
to Cry." And everyone got riled up over the fantastic "Changed
the Locks."

I
wondered, at that moment when her gaze turned my way, what her appeal
is. Why we (not just Austinites, but seemingly everyone exposed to her)
loves Lucinda. I think it's because she's tough and tender. She sings
about dirt roads, dirty children, lost love and bayous.

She
sketches out the plaintive drama of trailers. She reminds you about
your grandma's house, up on cinder blocks to keep it from the dirt when
it rains. She tells you she needs to get right with God, when really
her eyes tell you she's more interested in passionate kisses and going
to Slidell to look for her joy.

And
when she sings a love song, a real one without pixie dust, sappy strings
or even a hint of schmaltz, the reality of it hits you in the heart
until it breaks.

I
think we love her because if we were an older white blues-singing lady
from Lake Charles who'd been through as much love, loss, pain and beer,
we'd all like to think that we'd be able to write and sing songs the
way she does.

There's
a little Lousiana Lucinda with a the gravelly voice and the sad eyes
in all of us. And if there isn't there certainly should be.